


Deals and Agreements

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [43]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén
Genre: M/M, References to Canonical Character Death, Spoilers, Vomit, headcanon heavy, mentions of minor ocs - Freeform, references to political corruption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-02-24
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:49:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22872763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: Richard and Mia strike a shaky deal.
Relationships: Herald/Sidestep (Fallen Hero)
Series: How Not to Fall [43]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1327892
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Deals and Agreements

Oh fuck, he had forgotten about Mia. 

Adrenaline, muscles twitching with latent fury fear excitement dread and he was going to die they were all going to. Coming for him and for them and for her and for Her and they were all going to not die in the worst ways he could imagine. Eyes darting and finding Ricardo coming up behind Regina and Daniel floating up high with a look of mild nausea and the scramble of the Rat King in his brain. Claws on the inside of his skull. Skittering clicks. Too crowded. Certain thoughts being forced out. Legs twitching. Muscles moving, was he walking? What was. A moment of reason. Clarity. Mia Ochoa up in the old office with her tape recorder and observant eyes and keen mind. A momentary debate, fingers scrambling for the. His fingers lost.

His hands lost.

His stomach won. And lost its contents. 

-

It couldn’t have been five minutes later. Still hunched slightly by the wall of an empty shipping container, on his knees with his forehead pressed against the cool surface. A judgmentally thin and acrid puddle in the corner and a thin line of sticky saliva dangling sickly from his mouth. Daniel had floated over and gingerly pressed a bottle of water into the gloved hands. His body felt numb and distant, but Richard managed to take a mouthful and coat his tongue, swishing and spitting roughly against the concrete floor. Somewhere. Hazy, but notable, the Rat King was busying itself with various tasks, sniffing in the corners of his mind. It had been that Rat King that had pounced on his terror, driving his body to stand and move and get away. But the rest of his mind was unsettlingly still. Focused on the physical sensation. Cool on his forehead. Burning in his throat. Aches in his back and hips. Empty in his chest. Empty in his gut. Empty in. His hands? Oh, Danny had taken the bottle back. Empty hands, shaking so badly he’d been splashing water onto Mad Dog’s gloves. 

“I forgot she was up there,” cracked and ragged, acid bleeding through from his esophagus and tainting the words. Maybe if he verbalized it. Got it out of his head. It would make it go away. Make it stop. A bitter laugh but his mind still hadn’t really caught up with the consequences of unmasking in front of Mia. Unmasking in front of Her. 

The Rat King hurried to handle whatever internal fire was most pressing, brushing soft whiskers along the edges of his consciousness and helping keep him calm. Abandoning its duties of keeping other people’s thoughts at bay. Daniel was suddenly a warm bright spot to his side, too flinch back yellow and burning just on the other side of safe. 

“I know,” he answered, voice quiet. “But it’s okay,” Not wanting to upset him any further. Distress him any further. The armor was making him flinchy on his own but Daniel was pushing through it, laying a gentle hand on the back of Richard’s neck. One of the few places he could touch him without having to touch Mad Dog. “Mia is a good person,” which, god in heaven, he really believed meant anything. Maybe it would. Probably not. “And I’m sure we can convince her to wait a little bit before saying anything. Maybe even keep her sources secret?” it was a mild suggestion. Both of them knew that if Mia got a chance to break this story, there wouldn’t be a soul in Los Diablos willing to let her informants stay anonymous. And if she managed to break the real story? She’d have the attention of the nation on her. Daniel’s thoughts flitted over to whatever Ricardo was getting up to. Richard didn’t want to know. Couldn’t resist asking. 

“What is he doing?” Ricardo knew that Richard didn’t want her dead. Well. Knew that he couldn’t kill her, if nothing else. Knew the consequences of it. Not that knowing about the consequences of something had ever stopped Ricardo in the past. 

A small thought in the back of Richard’s mind cleared its throat and said something rather impolite about glass houses and throwing stones. Ricardo wasn’t the one who had just unmasked himself for dramatic effect after all. 

A pause. Daniel’s thoughts were fluttering too quickly for Richard to be bothered trying to ensnare just one. He let them whip by, getting only tiny air currents of indecision and concern. 

“He’s uh. He’s staring at Regina,” and Richard couldn’t bring himself yet to glance back, but if the new and exciting feeling in the air was anything to go by, Ricardo’s mods were zipping along nicely. Like standing under a power converter in a thunderstorm. “Standing in front of her and just…staring,” too long of a pause this time. Doing more than just staring then, but Richard could handle that imagery on his own. Hands would be clenching. Jaw would be tight. Apparently whatever face Ricardo was making didn’t bear describing. 

And Mia. Mia was still up in the office. Her thoughts were rapid, but easy to follow once the lines of connection were established. Running from thread to thread to see how they tangled and shot off from one another. Pinning them down in central hubs. Apparently someone in her past had had ideas about Regenes. Sleeper agents. Spies and moles and conspiracy theories. Tin foil hat, some of them. Dangerously close in others. Close enough. Hadn’t Ricardo said that he’d punched that reporter? And that the reported had died in a tragic accident. 

Despite the frenetic activity, there was something easy about looking into her mind. Organized chaos.

Richard’s stomach dropped again and he retched dryly, Daniel’s hand on him shifting to hold his shoulder and steady him. 

She recognized his face. Not just as a face from the crowds but as Herald’s boyfriend. That tangle of lines smoothing out in rapturous efficiency; Herald’s boyfriend was Mad Dog. And Mad Dog had given Mia the push in the right direction to investigate the dirty money from Senator Carmichael’s campaign. And the dirty money led to the company that operated the Special Directive. And manufactured Regenes. And Mad Dog was clearly an escaped regene. And the kidnapped woman said that he’d once been a vigilante. One that worked with Charge. And Vernon (that was his name, the reporter that Ricardo had punched in the mouth at his funeral all those years ago, that had been) had all these theories about how well a mask could hide things. And a new tangle. Smaller. And, wait, hadn’t Mad Dog maimed Herald? 

Richard’s stomach heaved one final time and his mind could feel Mia peering down at them. Could see his back shuddering and Daniel tenderly patting his hair. By some unknown grace, Mia shelved that one for the moment. Turned her attention back to the computer sitting on the ancient desk behind her. There was fear in the undercurrent of her thoughts. Reasonable doubt and suspicion. Mad Dog, she couldn’t remember his name, couldn’t recall if she’d ever known it, didn’t kill people. He didn’t seem to enjoy it when people got hurt. And as far as she knew, even with all the propaganda the city could muster at his disposal, Herald had never killed anyone either. 

But Marshal Charge had killed people. Villains. And even though the magazines and official reports put their spins on those stories. The hero doing what needed to be done. It didn’t change the fact that he had ended lives. 

A second brush of fear from her. Vernon had been killed, probably not by the Rangers, probably not by Charge. But by god, then by who? At the order of people like Senator Carmichael most likely. Or even the kidnapped woman in the chair down there. And he hadn’t had nearly as much first-hand information as she did. His information was from back alley deals with people who knew a guy who’s roommate had known a guy who had once seen a regene that wasn’t blue skinned and dead eyed. 

Richard pulled back. That was enough of that, for now. 

At least he had a partial angle to work from now. And with another swig and spit of water, at least his mouth was tasting a little better. 

“How are you doing?” even toned. Every syllable drenched with worry. “We have time for you to rest,”

“I’m alive,” he managed to croak out, clearing his throat with a hack and savoring the awful acid burn. The offer of rest was an unwelcome one. No rest for the wicked, aha. “Stupid, but alive. Which is better than I thought I would be,” an easy admission, one that Daniel would be able to piece together with a little time to remember. Richard had admitted, on more than one quiet and hushed evening, that he was afraid that the ‘kill switch’ certain Farm scientists had made threats about would be real. That if he had tried to hurt Regina in any way, some half electric-half psychic trigger would be unlocked, stopping his heart. Freezing his lungs. Maybe it would be as simple as causing a blood vessel in the brain to burst. “How are you faring?”

Daniel made a low, non-committal noise. “Worried. Which I’m sure you can tell,” he added on, slightly sheepish. “Take a few more minutes Richie,” as soft as rising through a cloud, gathering dew on his cheeks. “That was a lot all at once,” the wince hiding in his words never made it to his face, but it peeked out in his voice. 

“And it wasn’t even all of it,” the words forced their way of his mouth and sat, impatient and ugly in the space between them.

“I know,” the hand. Well, that was cheating. Threaded itself up and into his hair. Soothing even if Richard was in no mood to be comforted. “It’s gonna be okay, though. I’m here,” a break. “We’re here,” 

He still creaked and popped in his joints as he rose to his feet. Right. So. Danny’s hand was lingering on the back of his head, gently tangling into his curls. Wanting to press out that things were going to be okay. Not believing it all himself, but wanting to support. To be there. It hurt as much as it helped, sunburn crisping up Richard’s skin wherever Danny touched. 

“I’ll be alright for now, lover boy,” whisper thin and still cracked at the edges. He could manage so long as Regina stayed out like a light. He wasn’t planning on being around when she woke back up. “I have to go have a word with Miss Ochoa,” a flash in the pan of concern and then it settled back, wind slipping those words away. Daniel trusted him not to do anything he’d regret to the reporter. Say or do something that would hurt himself? Maybe. And not a very good consolation. “I’ll be care—more careful,” he amended. It took a monumental surge of effort to lean in. Press his forehead against Daniel’s and god Mia could see this, oh fuck. “Do me a favor and make sure Ricardo doesn’t try to kill Her while I’m up there?” forced the nervy anxiety into his voice. 

Daniel nodded, silent for a long moment. Richard could practically see the words lining up behind Danny’s teeth. And finally. “You know if you need me, I’m here.” A small increase in pressure from the hand on his head, for emphasis. A massive increase in the weight pulling his heart down to his toes. 

“I know,” it was more a sound from his chest than it was words from his mouth. And even softer still “I love you,” not knowing why it was fighting its way up but not having the energy to stop it. 

“I know,” Daniel offered back—trying for little bit of lightness. He slid the hand out from Richard’s hair and rested it on his shoulder. On the armor, for a brief moment, and then slid off entirely. “Did you want your helmet?” he asked without warning, drifting back a little and almost bending to pick it up.

“Don’t see much point in it. She recognizes me,” 

Daniel’s face made an interesting expression, thoughts diving and then swooping from side to side, covering his bases. Many of the same ones Mia was quietly considering. “Oh.” Was all that made it out of his mouth. Still, he reached down and moved the helmet from the ground where Richard had tossed it to the chair he’d been sitting in. “Be careful,” he added, turning midair to float towards Ricardo and pull him into some ghost of conversation. 

Richard turned his attention to the metal stairs and the woman waiting above him. She chanced a quick look down at him, face carefully neutral and then pulled back and away. Preparing. Setting the tape recorder on the table and adjusting herself in the chair. Could he offer her protection? Not really. But he could claim to, if he wanted to go that route. He could threaten her into silence. He could ask politely. Or.

Ah, beans. 

“Miss Ochoa.” Even without the mask, he could feel Mad Dog sliding into position. Whatever it was that could pass as confidence and security of self slipping over his shoulders. He could do this. Even his voice tried to pitch downwards, to mimic the voice modulation. 

“Mad Dog,” she swallowed back her fear and tried to sit up straight. A professional. She could handle this. She’d spoken with him before. “Thank you for the invitation to all this,” not a forced platitude. A distracted one, though. She was memorizing his face, confirming that he was the odd man Herald had been seen out and about with. Trying to recall if she’d seen him elsewhere. And, somewhere in a smaller tangle of knots, noting that the height should have been a dead giveaway. 

“I’d like to offer you a deal,”

“Is that right?” her eyes shot over to the tape recorder. To the computer. Back to him. All in a flicker of a second. Easily excusable as nervous glances to anyone who couldn’t see straight into her head. 

“I can offer unrestricted access to the files in that computer,” he nodded for her benefit. The password would be easy enough. Regina was as brilliant as she was fucked in the head, but she had always been shit at passwords. If it wasn’t all zeros it was all nines. “As well as,” he took a deep steadying breath. “I can offer exclusive interviews to you. If I’m not dead by the end of today,”

“I’m guessing that means an offer of protection is out of the question,” her eyebrows lifted but it was more muscle memory than anything else. Her mouth knew how to conduct an interview, knew which questions to ask. The rest of her was taking a back seat and trying to figure out the safest way out of this. Mess. Building even. 

“I can offer it to you,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I can’t even ensure my own safety, let alone yours,”

“Fantastic,” said as a four letter word. 

“Relax. For the time being, Her people,” he tilted his head down towards Regina. Mia’s gaze stuttered for a moment before returning to him. “Are going to be interested in capturing or killing me. And then capturing and killing the two Rangers downstairs. If I’ve done this correctly, they don’t know who you are yet, or that you know what you know. I don’t know about Senator Carmichael’s people,”

“I’ve been careful,” Mia interrupted. “They shouldn’t have any idea that I was looking into them,”

“Good.” He let the word ring heavy and firm. “Then this is my offer: exclusive interviews. Photos. Videos. All the files and information you can pry from that computer. First hand testimonials--,”

“On camera?” voice lilting upwards in eager hope.

“No.” a small flinch in her mouth. A harder one in her mind. Unsatisfied. Let her be. “I don’t do well recounting the details. Emotionally I mean,” he added, letting himself. Mia’s expression changed. Slightly. Letting himself seem more human. Vulnerable. Worming a little bit in. He could plant that seed in her mind. He might, if she didn’t want to let it grow on her own. “Describing any breakdowns I have during the interview will have to suffice,” drama sold stories. The visual of a live interview, a living regene-turned-villain sobbing his trauma out on tv screens across America. And on the other hand. If she had control over the descriptions, could pick and choose how to let his story unfold without the mess of a live interview and people drawing their own conclusions about his expressions? His body language? Pros and cons. Pros and.

“And in exchange?”

“You don’t reveal my identity unless absolutely necessary,” she rolled her eyes a little. Obviously. “And you sit on this story for as long as you can—as I said earlier, if I don’t die tonight..I’ll be…I can offer you something much bigger than an escaped science experiment getting revenge,” her eyes narrowed, posture relaxing. 

“Bigger than Senator Carmichael’s corrupt campaign? Because that’s going to be national news,” her fingers steepled together, elbows on her knees, resting forward. Looking up at him. 

“Much bigger. International treason levels of bigger. Deep and dangerous,” he should have been more nervous talking about this, but it seemed his body had absorbed enough adrenaline in the past two hours and couldn’t possibly take another bite. 

An audible swallow. Mia’s mind already picking out which threads might lead to something that massive. Deciding with widening pupils if this was going to be worth pressing. “And if I say no?”

“If you leave here and immediately type up this, you mean?” he nodded to the tape recorder and Mia nodded back, mouth set firmly. “Early morning special edition for tomorrow? I won’t do anything to stop you from doing that. And I won’t take any ‘revenge’, if that’s what you’re worried about,”

“Oh really? You would just let me leave?”

“I would. Really. But I can’t speak for Herald or Charge. And I can’t speak for what Her people will do to you. Or what Carmichael’s people will do. I want this story out, Miss Ochoa. It’s what I’ve always wanted. Just not before it’s all complete. You go to press with only this half of the story now? I can almost guarantee that you’ll be dead before you find out the end of it,”

Richard let her have the privacy of her own mind for a moment. There had been a shudder of almost childlike terror that she was doing a very good job of suppressing. She didn’t want to die, not the way Vernon did. 

“I accept,” there was a condition, Richard could feel it. “On one condition. Off the record,” she leaned and clicked the tape recorder off. The one on the table off. The one in her purse kept spinning. Pretty sneaky, Richard couldn’t find it in himself to disapprove. “You and Herald are together?” his stomach pitched and from the way her face suddenly pinched in, he could tell his own had tightened back. 

“It’s complicated,”

“Sure,”

“I’ll…be able to tell you more later. Part of the deal,” Mia was going to agree—sensing that she’d probably pushed hard enough for the moment and could save the gossip column interview for later. Richard cut her off before she could speak. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need to get the files from the computer,”

Mia frowned, rising to her feet. “I can’t take it with me?” not indignant, just. Mildly startled.

“If you can be sure you know how disable all of the tracking measures put in place? Be my guest. But I wouldn’t want them to track it down to your office. Or your apartment. Or wherever you were thinking of stashing it,”

“Right.” A quiet agreement. Glancing up at him. Silence from her thoughts and then a more genuine question. Interview time was clearly over. “What are you going to do with her now?” Mia glanced out the cracked window. 

“Not a clue.” Mia scowled at him.


End file.
